


Nothing to be Afraid Of

by Kacka



Series: The Art of Looking for Trouble [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy meets the President. Clarke meets Octavia. It's not a competition, but they're both pretty terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing to be Afraid Of

**Author's Note:**

> Suspend your disbelief about how the Secret Service works because Miller and Raven are not very realistic representations.
> 
> If you haven't read the first part, all you really need to know is that Clarke is the daughter of the President.

Life is good for Bellamy Blake.

He’s been accepted into his first choice of Masters programs, his baby sister is transferring to a university twenty minutes from his, and he’s got his girlfriend’s head in his lap as they’re sitting out on the quad in the sunshine. If anyone were ever going to ask him to be on the cover of a brochure for his college, now would be the time.

“Oh, by the way,” Clarke says, pushing her glasses up her nose as she adjusts so she can see his face. “The President wants to meet you.”

Bellamy keeps his expression schooled and resolutely does not look over at the Secret Service Agent sitting a few feet away.

“Cool. Are you gonna give me a behind-the-scenes tour? Do I get security clearance?”

“You know I never lived there, right? I’ve been at college the whole time.” Her eyes narrow. “Why are you being so chill about this?”

“How come you call her ‘the President’ and not ‘Mom’?”

“Usually because she’s acting as the President and not as my mom. If she’s throwing a state dinner I have to go to, if she’s calling to reprimand me for negative attention I’m getting in the press, she’s the President.”

“Wanting to meet her daughter’s boyfriend seems more like a mom thing.”

“Sure, but you’re a drama queen and I wanted to watch you squirm,” she says, leaning into his hand, which is still tangled in her hair. “How come you’re not going all squirmy?”

“I figured this was coming eventually,” he shrugs. “Plus, Miller warned me that you were going to try to drop it into conversation as casually as possible.”

“Treason.” She pauses. “You figured this was coming?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “When I found out Octavia is moving here, my first thought was how excited I was to introduce you guys. I’ve never introduced her to anyone I’ve dated before. It’s never been serious enough.” He strokes his thumb against her temple. “I’m serious about you. I want you to meet my family, so I started mentally preparing to meet yours.”

Clarke smiles up at him, warmer than the sun on the back of his neck, but it falls from her face almost as quick as it came on.

“What?”

“You want me to meet your sister?” She says, bolting upright. Miller looks over but doesn’t leap into action. Bellamy isn’t the only dramatic one.

“Obviously.” He’s more than a little confused.

“You want me to meet Octavia.”

“Last time I checked she was still my sister, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Clarke swears.

“Are you– Is this what squirmy looks like on you? I’ve never seen this side of Clarke Griffin before. It’s kind of awesome.”

“Awesome? I’m freaking out, here.”

“Why?” She drops her forehead against his shoulder, which can’t be comfortable, but if it’s calming to her he doesn’t mind.

“Because you just told me you’re serious about me. Also, your sister is terrifying enough without being the most important person in your life. She could kick my ass, like, nine different ways.”

“That’s what Miller and Reyes are for.”

“Yeah, but– I don’t know, Bell. You don’t think this is moving a little fast?”

He turns and kisses the top of her head.

“I’m not trying to pressure you. We haven’t been dating that long. As long as you’re being clear about how you feel and where you think we are, I’m fine; we can take it at your pace. If that means you don’t want to meet my sister yet, there’s no rush.”

“I want to meet her,” Clarke insists, picking her head up to look him in the eye. “It feels like a big deal if she likes me, and a bigger deal if she hates me. And I think that’s what’s scary. It means I’m serious about you, too.”

Bellamy flashes her a grin and nudges her toward him with a finger under her chin. She sighs like kissing her boyfriend is some huge burden, and nips at his lip before flopping back onto the grass.

“Your mom has a military,” Bellamy can’t help pointing out. “My sister spends eighty percent of her time wearing a Gryffindor snuggie. Only one of us should be freaking out about this, and it’s definitely me.”

“You had your chance,” Clarke says, closing her eyes in contentment. “It’s my turn now.”

As it turns out, both Octavia and the POTUS are pretty busy people. Bellamy isn’t that bothered that Clarke’s mom doesn’t have time for him. If anything, it gives him more of a chance to adjust to the idea that the two most intimidating people he can imagine– the leader of the free world and his serious girlfriend’s mother– are the same person.

Octavia, he’s a little more irked with.

He’s seen her plenty since she arrived, but her schedule and Clarke’s seem to be intentionally working against each other.

When he helps Octavia move into her apartment, Clarke is in finals for her Maymester class. Whenever Clarke sporadically drops by his new place, Octavia is at her new job at the campus bookstore. He invites O to come see a movie with them but she’s got a date, which makes him indignant for more than one reason.

“Honestly,” Miller says one day as he and Clarke are looking through her planner. Since she’s not working over the summer, the President has filled her schedule with campaign rallies and photo opportunities.

“Honestly what?”

Over the course of his relationship with Clarke, he and Miller have become friends. Bellamy feels like it’s the product of a lot of effort and determination on his part and a lot of pretend reluctance on Miller’s. If they weren’t both so stubborn, it probably would have happened faster.

“This would probably be so much easier if Clarke and your sister cut out the go-between and found a time that worked for them.”

“Are you calling me a middleman?”

“Miller, you’re a genius. What’s your sister’s number?”

He gives it to her and she enters it in her phone, opening a text message and subsequently staring at it like it’s about to jump out of her hands and bite her.

“You okay?”

“Is it weird that I’m scared to text her?”

“A little,” he says, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “What’s the worst that’s going to happen? She signs your number up for cat facts?”

“That would be pretty bad,” Clarke says, twirling a lock of hair around one finger. “It’s hard to text someone you’ve never texted before, you know? Like, I don’t know what her texting style is. I don’t know how to even start this.”

“The first time you texted me, you literally just sent two rows of poop emoji.”

“Yeah, but we were already friends. I was just letting you know it was me who was texting you.”

“So pretend you’re texting me.”

“I’m not assaulting your sister with poop emoji.”

“But you could use the same tone,” he points out. “Just be yourself. I like yourself, and I want her to like yourself too.”

Clarke nods once, determinedly, and starts typing out a text message. Bellamy sits back, watching the train leave the station. He knows from experience that Octavia’s responses will be prompt, caps-locked, and full of slang he doesn’t understand.

“You know, you’re not bad at this,” Miller says, clapping him on the back.

“Your support means so much to me.”

“Just wait until you get summoned to the Oval Office. You’ll appreciate my support then.”

Clarke sets up brunch, of all things, with Octavia and the guy she’s been seeing since she moved to town.

“I don’t see why you’re so grouchy about this,” Clarke says, searching through her closet anxiously. She’s still mostly naked and he’s still in her bed, enjoying watching her get ready for some art exhibit she told her friend they’d go to before they meet his sister. “You do want your sister to be in a happy, healthy adult relationship, right?”

“I was really looking forward to being the only person she knew here. She’s only been in town a month, classes aren’t even in session, and I’m her brother. I thought I’d get to see more of her.”

“That’s sweet and only mildly codependent. Zip me up?” He stands to cross to where she is and the look in her eye tells him she appreciates the view and didn’t need his help in the least.

“You objectifying me, Griffin?”

“Always,” she says, giving him a chaste peck and moving toward the bathroom to do her makeup. “If it helps,” she calls as he roots around for his clothing, “he sounds like a good guy.”

Bellamy pauses in pulling his pants on. “How do you know what he sounds like?”

“Your sister told me.” He steps into the bathroom so she can see the question on his face and he won’t have to articulate it. “We’ve been texting.”

“Really.”

“Mm-hm.”

Fondness swells within him and by the way she catches his eye in the mirror, he can tell she sees it. He ducks out of the room to pull on his shirt and try to get his facial expressions under control.

“So what do you know about him?”

“Not much. They met at the gym. Apparently he’s there a lot, because she’s gone on about how muscular he is.”

“That’s not the kind of information I was looking for.”

“Sorry. He goes here, I think, and she wasn’t looking for anything this soon but he’s been really helpful to show her the city.”

“I could have shown her the city,” Bellamy says, petulant. He doesn’t hear her come up behind him but he senses her there and leans into her when she hugs him from behind.

“You already have something akin to a social life,” she says, her voice muffled in his shirt. “She’s trying to make her own, not get drawn into yours. That’s not unreasonable.”

“My social life consists of mostly you,” he points out, linking his fingers with hers. He can feel her smile into his back.

“And Miller and Raven,” she says, defensive. “Don’t sell yourself short, Bellamy. You’ve got your little friendship cocoon, and one day you will be a beautiful social butterfly. We’re getting there.”

“Cocoons are moths; butterflies come out of a chrysalis,” Bellamy says, just to be contrary. “I don’t want to be a social moth.”

“Nocturnal and single-minded when it sees shiny objects? That sounds like you to me,” Clarke teases, withdrawing her hands. He turns to smack a kiss on her forehead before he lets her go. If she’s the flame in this analogy, he doesn’t have much of an argument.

Miller has already made coffee by the time they emerge fully dressed and hands it to them wordlessly as they begin the trek from Clarke’s apartment to the art gallery. All of Clarke’s travel mugs have puns on them and Miller has chosen one for him this morning that reads, ‘Think like a proton: always positive,’ which is almost the opposite of Bellamy’s life philosophy. Particularly when he’s up this early on his day off.

“Remind me why we’re doing this at the crack of dawn?” Bellamy says.

“It’s nine a.m.,” Miller points out.

“On a _Saturday._ I’m just saying, it’s not like we couldn’t have gone this afternoon. The art will still be there.”

“It will,” Clarke agrees, “But my friend’s pieces are stained glass and this is when he told us they’d get the best light. The gallery is holding a special event to try to sell his pieces, and if I show up, it’ll get more press. You didn’t have to come.”

“I’d rather be out of bed with you than in it by myself,” he grumbles, hiding his smile behind his drink when she loops her arm through his.

Miller makes a gagging noise and Bellamy would normally give him a rude gesture but between his coffee and his girlfriend, his hands are a little full.

The show is really cool, actually. The artist has blended the style of tribal artwork with the Medieval European medium of stained glass, and Bellamy, as a self-proclaimed history nerd, is intrigued by the implications. He and Clarke get into a mild debate about ethnic bias– one of the many reasons he’s crazy about her– that gets broken up only when she goes, “Oh, there’s my friend.”

She waves a man over who is tall and hugely muscular with tattoos peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. Bellamy would be intimidated if he wasn’t smiling fondly in their direction.

“Hey, Lincoln.”

“Hey, Clarke,” he says, wrapping one arm around her for a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it. Thanks for coming.”

“Clarke?” Someone echoes, and all of a sudden Octavia is sliding in next to the tall guy, whose hand settles on her waist in an overly familiar motion. “Clarke Griffin?”

“Octavia?”

“Bell!”

She’s grinning at him with eyes wide, like she honestly hadn’t noticed him up until he spoke.

“Nate?”

The whole group turns their heads and the Asian kid who spoke flushes down to his toes.

“Monty,” Miller says, his voice soft with surprise.

“Nate?” Bellamy asks under his breath. Nobody calls him Nate. Or, at least, he and Clarke and Raven don’t.

“Shut up,” Miller says back, voice equally low. Then, to Monty, in that soft voice again, “Hey.” He even _smiles_. Miller never smiles. It totally ruins the whole badass agent thing he’s got going on and Bellamy cannot wait to tease him about it later.

Clarke’s elbow in his side brings him back to the more pressing conversation.

“Right, sorry. Clarke, this is my sister Octavia, who I promise I was not expecting to ambush us like this.”

“It’s great to finally meet you,” Octavia says, on her best behavior. Bellamy assumes it has less to do with trying not to scare his girlfriend off and more to do with wanting him to be nice to her boyfriend. “I feel like I know you already.”

“Don’t believe everything you read online.”

He can tell Clarke is nervous and he drops his hand to tangle with hers.

“No, because of the texting. And because Bell never shuts up about you.” She looks between Clarke and her boyfriend. “I guess you already know Lincoln?”

“We had an art history seminar together when we were freshmen,” Clarke says, shooting her friend a smile. “Everything you were telling me about him totally fits.”

“Right?”

Bellamy extends his hand to shake Lincoln’s.

“I probably don’t have to introduce myself,” he says.

“No, you’re pretty infamous,” Lincoln agrees. He still looks kind of unnerved, which Bellamy is okay with.

“Your show is great,” Bellamy says, and Octavia shoots him a grateful look. “Actually, maybe you can settle an argument we’re having.”

Octavia relaxes all the way now. Inviting Lincoln into an argument is pretty much the quickest way to show his sister her boyfriend is on his good side. Even Clarke seems to know and detaches herself from Bellamy’s conversation with Lincoln to chat with Octavia and Monty.

Lincoln gets really into explaining his pieces to Bellamy, speaking comfortably once he’s into the details. It’s not Bellamy’s normal field of interest, but knowing that this guy who looks like he could wrestle a bear and win is enthusiastically geeky about art history comforts Bellamy when he thinks about his sister spending extensive alone time with him.

“Sorry,” Lincoln says, cutting himself off and running a hand over the back of his shaved head. “I’m boring myself, here.”

“Happens to me all the time.”

“I was only prepared to make one good impression at a time. First impress the art buyers, then impress my girlfriend’s brother.”

“We really screwed up your plan, huh?”

“Clarke kind of follows her own plan,” Lincoln says, smiling at where Octavia is talking Clarke’s ear off. Probably whipping out all her most embarrassing stories about her brother. Bellamy briefly wonders why he thought it would be such a good idea to introduce them, but then Clarke says something, sending Octavia into a fit of laughter, and he remembers. That’s why.

“Usually because her plan is better,” Bellamy says, and Lincoln nods.

He and Lincoln chat a little longer, and when actual patrons of art interrupt, Bellamy is more than happy to wander back over to his sister and Clarke. Monty has, at this point, drawn _Nate_ into a side conversation, and Bellamy swears the agent is enamored.

“What’s going on?” He asks, his elbow knocking purposefully into Clarke’s. They’re not super into public displays of affection, but he likes to find little ways to touch her here and there. Just to remind himself he can.

“I’m kicking ass at meeting your family,” Clarke says, grinning widely at him.

“She is,” Octavia agrees. “It’s sad, really, that there aren’t more of us to meet. We’re a delight, and she’s on a roll.”

“There’s always our lola,” Bellamy points out.

“Who’s Lola?”

“Our grandmother,” Octavia supplies. “She lives in the Philippines, speaks only Tagalog, has zero patience for people wasting her time, and she’s the scariest person I know.”

“Bring it on. I’m unstoppable.”

Brunch goes much better than Bellamy was expecting. They pile into booths at the Waffle House down the road, ordering way too much food and laughing a little too loudly for before noon on a Saturday.

Monty, who they pretty much strong armed into joining them, talks mostly to Clarke while everyone else argues about WWE, but he shifts progressively closer to Miller over the course of the hour. Every time his exaggerated hand gestures distract the man next to him, Bellamy has to choke back on a laugh. Seeing Miller flustered and happy is the best.

“That was fun,” Bellamy tells Clarke, his thumb tracing her knuckles as they stroll back to her place. “I wouldn’t mind making it a regular thing.”

“Are you ill? Are you possessed? Is this the alien takeover we all feared?”

“You’re hilarious. I’m just saying, as long as we keep it at a reasonable time of day, there’s no downside to pigging out on hash browns with people I like. And watching Miller blush.” He smirks at the mumbled insult from behind them.

“I think you’re starting to emerge from your cocoon.”

“Did we decide I’m a moth, then?”

“You can be whatever you want to be.”

“Well, if anyone could change species by willpower alone, it would be you,” he says, and Clarke squeezes his hand.

Clarke must mention to Octavia that weekly brunch should be a thing, because she makes it happen and Bellamy is powerless to stop it even if he wanted to. They take turns hosting, going out only if nobody feels like cooking, and it becomes something Bellamy looks forward to.

One week he and Miller and Octavia are testing out a video game of Monty’s creation while Clarke and Lincoln sketch out some improvements to the graphics. Bellamy is interrupted trying to figure out what any of the controls do when his cell rings.

“Lincoln, I’m tagging you in.”

“Which one am I?”

“The one with the sombrero. I think.”

“No, I’m that one,” Octavia objects. “Aren’t I?”

“Not sure,” Bellamy says, handing his controller over and vacating his seat so Lincoln can take his place. “Either way, Miller’s definitely the one with the magic sword and the robot arm.”

“Shit, am I really?”

“I’ll try to figure it out,” Lincoln says, pushing buttons at random.

Bellamy’s phone is still buzzing, and when he looks down at it, the number causes his heart to speed up and his palms to start sweating.

“You gonna answer, or you just gonna stare at it?” Miller asks, not looking up from the screen.

“Um,” Bellamy gulps.

“Who is it?” Octavia asks. It’s not someone in his caller ID, but it’s a number he recognizes nonetheless.

“It’s the White House,” he says, pressing the green button and stepping into Clarke’s kitchen. “Hello?”

“Bellamy Blake?”

“Speaking,” he says, feeling Clarke come up next to him and slide her hand onto his arm.

“Please hold for the President.”

“Sure.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “Hello, Bellamy?”

He’s heard President Griffin’s voice before– he watches the State of the Union every year, has seen plenty of interviews and speeches, has even heard her from afar when she calls Clarke. But hearing her say his name, knowing she’s speaking directly to him, it’s a little surreal.

He orders pizza on this phone. He plays Candy Crush on this phone. He should not be talking to the President of the United States on this phone.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Probably more from your FBI file than from me,” Clarke whispers, and he nudges her.

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

“Listen, Bellamy, I’m going to be up your way on Wednesday and I was hoping you and Clarke and I could all get dinner together.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to work?”

“I can clear my schedule.”

“Good, then. I look forward to meeting you in person. I’ll have someone be in touch with Clarke about the details.”

“Thank you, Madam President.”

“Thank you, Bellamy.” There’s a click and the line goes dead. He exhales long and slow and leans against Clarke.

“I thought you weren’t going to freak out,” Clarke says, amused.

“I like to keep everyone on their toes. Give it to me straight: is your mom going to hate me?”

“No. I mean, not if you guys stay away from the topic of politics.”

“Great. That should be easy, seeing as I just graduated with a Poli Sci degree and she’s the President.”

“You can talk about your sister, talk about your students.” She pauses. “You won me over despite going on for ages about Pokemon, so if all else fails–”

“I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or if you really think talking to her about Pokemon would be better than talking to her about politics.”

Clarke smiles and cards her fingers through his hair, which makes him feel a little like a cat, but also feels really soothing.

“She’s going to like you because you make me happy. What was it you told me? I like yourself and I want her to like yourself too?”

“Something like that,” he says grudgingly. She kisses his shoulder, because she’s standing at a weird angle to him and it’s most of what she can reach.

“Good. You have a few days to really dig in and feel the stress, so you should come back and help us figure out how to use these magic beans. I hear there are zombies up ahead.”

“Well, if there are zombies.”

She’s right. The panic about meeting Clarke’s mother does build to nearly inescapable heights over the next few days. Miller is enjoying it way too much and keeps humming ‘Hail to the Chief’ under his breath whenever he sees Bellamy. Raven, he discovers, worked for President Griffin back when she was only a Senator, so she ought to have insight to offer Bellamy. Instead, she starts making a running list of non-extradition countries Bellamy could escape to if this dinner goes wrong.

He’s been working as a secretary in the admissions office since both his TA and RA jobs ended with the school year, and he ends up taking the whole day off on Wednesday to properly work himself up into a frenzy.

“Serves you right,” Octavia says, when she calls to check in around noon.

“Serves me right how? I was so nice to Lincoln.”

“Yeah, but he was still a wreck the morning of.”

“He’s twice my size.”

“You’re at least twice the President’s size, but you’re still afraid of her and want her to like you,” Octavia points out. “Are you gonna tell her you didn’t vote for her?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d open with that.”

“Maybe don’t.”

“Good tip,” he sighs. “Did you call to be supportive or to laugh at me? It’s nice to talk to you either way, but I genuinely can’t tell.”

“I called to tell you not to put gel in your hair and to relax as much as possible. It’s blatantly obvious you’re over the moon for Clarke. Unless the President is blind or stupid, both of which you know she’s not, there’s no way she’s going to miss your googly eyes. You’re going to be fine.”

“Thanks, O.”

“Anytime.”

Clarke comes over around four, wearing a sundress and looking perfect.

“I thought you could use a calming influence, so I brought Miller.”

“You freaking out about what to wear yet?” Miller asks, beelining for Bellamy’s couch.

“How much are you going to laugh if I say yes?”

“Like, hardly at all right now because you look like you might vomit, but later for sure. After you’ve gotten through this.”

“Thanks. You’re a true friend,” Bellamy says, sincere even though it comes out sarcastic.

“Come on,” Clarke says, grabbing his hand and leading him toward his bedroom. “I’ll help you pick something out.”

He’s changing into the outfit she chose when she says, “Is it going to be more or less stressful for you if we have a quickie?”

“Are you asking out of academic interest or are you looking for a practical answer?”

“I want to thank you for doing this,” she says, her hands dropping to his belt. “I almost bought you flowers, but I decided you might like sex more. Besides, it might make you feel better.”

He laughs and lets his hands find her hips.

“I think it’s worth a try.”

If nothing else, Clarke succeeds in distracting him for a while.

He’s gripping her hand hard on the car ride to the restaurant, however. She and Miller carry most of the conversation, for which Bellamy is grateful since he’s not really following what they’re saying.

The restaurant appears closed when they arrive. Clarke assures him that’s the way the President operates, that they’ll have the entire place to themselves.

“Well,” she amends, “us and the Secret Service.”

“There will still be plenty of people around to witness your humiliation,” Miller assures him.

“Awesome. That was my main concern.”

The President is already seated at a table, looking over a menu when they walk in. She stands to greet her daughter with a hug, her hands cupping Clarke’s cheeks like she’s checking to make sure her daughter is still all in one piece, before she turns to offer a hand to Bellamy.

“Nice to meet you in person,” she says, giving Bellamy a professional smile.

She’s much smaller than he’s been imagining for the past few days, but nothing about her makes him equate short and thin with weak or fragile. She carries herself with her shoulders back, her jaw set in a way that almost reminds him of his sister, reminds him more of Clarke, and she’s got an authoritative presence. She commands respect and she clearly loves her daughter; he’ll give her that much, even if he doesn’t like her politics.

“Likewise,” he says, smiling as much as he can.

“Nervous?”

“A little.”

“He’s just playing it cool,” Clarke says, reaching for his hand. “He’s been so tense since you called I’ve been worried about his blood pressure.”

She’s teasing him, but not in a way that makes him feel like she’s throwing him under the bus. It sets him at ease, establishing a sense of normalcy that he simply couldn’t imagine in the presence of her mother.

“You make me sound like I’m a senior citizen,” he says, squeezing her hand gratefully.

“If the geriatric shoe fits, grandpa.”

“She gets it from me, I’m afraid,” the President cuts in.

“The worrying about my blood pressure or the bad sense of humor?” Bellamy asks, adding a, “Ma’am,” when his brain catches up with his mouth.

“Both,” she smiles, taking her seat at the table and in so signaling to Clarke and Bellamy that they can also sit.

They do well not discussing politics. Octavia is a topic that carries them through a long period of time, Clarke telling her mother how intimidated she was to meet his sister and Bellamy describing how his own rebellious teenage phase came back to bite him when Octavia reached that age. The President tells him about some of the strange gifts she’s received from visiting diplomats and Clarke laughs along, adding in details here and there. It’s almost enjoyable, though Bellamy still feels like he has to be on his best behavior.

He considers it a success that they avoid setting off the conversational land mines of Clarke’s father, Bellamy’s mother, and the bulk of President Griffin’s career.

“You’re not how I imagined you,” the President tells him at the end of the meal.

“Mom,” Clarke says softly, a warning.

“What did you imagine, ma’am?”

“Honestly? My staff has focused on the misdemeanors from your youth. I was picturing someone a little more verbally aggressive, someone who seems a little more like trouble.”

“I can tell you from my sister’s dating experience that the ones who end up being the most trouble are the ones who don’t seem like they will be,” he says lightly. He knows what she could have found out about him; it’s part of what’s been stressing him out for the past seventy two hours.

“Like Finn,” Clarke says, her voice pointed.

He places a hand on her knee to tell her he’s okay. By this point, he’s used to the Griffin straightforwardness. He much prefers her mother to be bluntly honest with him than for her to say these things to Clarke behind his back. That would only anger her without offering him a chance to speak for himself.

“Right,” he agrees. “But my main goal is to make your daughter happy, not to hurt her. I can’t promise I’ll be successful, but I’m trying my hardest, ma’am.”

“It seems that parents should not have access to records about their children’s partners,” the President says, her smile wry.

“Are you sure that’s even legal for the President?” Clarke asks.

“I’m admitting that I misjudged you,” the President continues, her eyes trained on Bellamy’s. “I apologize.”

“It’s alright, ma’am.” He really means it, too. He’s not always been the most level-headed about the people his sister is seeing. “You’re not the first. If it helps, you are the first to admit it.”

“It does help,” she says, turning her smile to her daughter. “This is the part where you say, ‘I told you so.’”

“Yeah, it’s almost like you should have trusted my judgment,” Clarke says mildly. “But thanks for saying you’re sorry. It means a lot.”

“Maybe you can learn from the President,” he says, poking her in the side. “You never tell me you’re sorry for teasing me. My feelings could be really hurt.”

“You are very sensitive,” Clarke says, her hand covering his on her knee. “I’ll take it under consideration.”

The President shakes his hand again before they leave, firm and friendly, and when he’s finally back in the car he feels like his lungs have doubled in capacity.

“Congrats, you made it through,” Miller says, sliding in after Clarke. “Reyes owes me twenty bucks now. Her money was on an early crash and burn.”

“Mine too,” Bellamy admits. Clarke’s fingers lace between his and her lips brush his cheekbone.

“Thanks for doing that.”

“You already thanked me,” he reminds her.

“I know, but I’m very, _very_ grateful,” she says, her words laced with double meaning. Miller makes a face and turns to look out the window.

Bellamy grins and puts his arm around her, kissing her fleetingly on the lips. His little sister and his girlfriend get along, he gets to have a big breakfast every Saturday with his friends, and he just won over the President of the United States.

Life is good.


End file.
